Pregnancy in a cell
How a murder charge — for which she was acquitted — derailed a Norfolk woman’s life
Kash Wilson threw the phone down in frustration when his mother ended the video call in that early December. The 17-month-old boy didn’t realize she was standing in the doorway.
Kash had only interacted with his mother, Shavyonne Vick, through video calls. The 30-year-old Norfolk woman spent 19 months in jail on a murder charge — for which she was acquitted after a two-day trial and 25 minutes of jury deliberation.
“I was like, ‘Hey little baby, I’m here in person now!’ and he bust out crying,” Vick said. His grandmother, who had been one of his primary caregivers, told her, “He missed you just as much as you missed him.”
Vick had been a Hampton Roads Transit bus driver for five years, and her pregnancy was normal for seven months prior to her arrest in May 2021. But once in jail, she didn’t have access to ample food and quality water, her doctor or the prenatal pills she had been taking. This was compounded by a dramatic increase in stress. Her son was born that June, four weeks early by emergency cesarean section — against her plan for a natural birth.
Kash was underweight at 4.7 pounds. Vick had just 2 ½ days with him before being taken back to jail, where their only interaction would be through a phone screen until her release.
Her case is an example of how long incarcerations without a conviction, with scant evidence to justify an arrest in the first place, can derail the lives of defendants and their loved ones. It also highlights weaknesses in jails’ care for those incarcerated while pregnant — a pattern across the country.
Vick was arrested May 6, 2021 — four days after a cookout she organized became what she called “the worst day of my life.”
The gathering was meant to celebrate her brother’s release from prison, and it was his first chance to grieve the death of another sibling with family. Members of Vick’s extended family — who had made threats on Facebook toward her and her unborn child as part of an ongoing dispute — showed up uninvited. An argument became a fight, and 21-yearold Daymeion CarmonFaison was shot dead.
In the following days, a detective contacted Vick’s mother saying he wanted to ask Vick some questions. Vick said she reached out to a lawyer, who advised that she hadn’t been charged with anything, and didn’t have to speak to police.
Vick later saw a photo of herself on Facebook, likely from a news release from police saying she was wanted for murder, and went to the station without consulting a lawyer. She said she was under the impression they only wanted to ask questions, not that she was being formally charged with Carmon-Faison’s killing and related offenses.
Once police arrested Vick, a magistrate described her as having “turned herself in.” But Vick said that doesn’t tell the whole story.
“I knew eventually my name was going to be brought up in some type of way, I just didn’t know I was going to be charged with murder,” she said.
Between 30 and 50 people attended the cookout, but only a handful of witnesses came forward. Two of the prosecution’s witnesses testified they heard gunshots but didn’t see the shooter, and a 16-year-old — 14 at the time — was the only person who claimed to see Vick with a gun. Police body cam footage showed one of the main witnesses at the scene telling an officer she didn’t know who fired the shots.
In the immediate aftermath, the teen could be heard on the 911 call asking who shot Carmon-Faison, undermining his claim that he had seen Vick with the gun, according to lead prosecutor Gordon Ufkes.
Ufkes said “witness issues” weakened the prosecution’s case.
“In the course of speaking with the witnesses in anticipation of trial, we expected the testimony to be a little bit different from what came out at trial,” Norfolk Commonwealth’s Attorney Ramin Fatehi said in an interview in mid-December, adding that their cases are only as good as the evidence they’re able to present.
Fatehi maintains evidence in the case points to Vick as the shooter and his office isn’t seeking to file charges against anyone else unless new, contradicting information comes to light. Eric Korslund, Vick’s lead defense attorney, said the case was thin from the start.
“They essentially had no evidence that she did this, in my opinion,” Korslund said.
Vick was taken into custody after visiting the police department. In early June 2021, she was denied bond and was held in the Norfolk City Jail until her trial.
Pregnancy while incarcerated
At times, Vick feared for her life while jailed.
She described the quality of medical care she received as “the bare minimum.”
While the nurse practitioner was “awesome” and several others treated her well, she said, the barriers of the jail system created issues that Vick says likely affected her son’s growth in the womb. Vick said she kept extensive medical logs throughout her time in custody but did not provide them to The Pilot for review in time for publication.
The Norfolk Sheriff’s Office declined to comment on the specifics of Vick’s care due to federal health regulations. The sheriff ’s office contracted with WellPath, based in Nashville, Tennessee, to perform medical care in the city jail for several years prior to their contract ending at the end of last year. The jail’s current medical provider is Mediko.
“While we cannot address specific complaints related to medical or mental health care, we can state that the Virginia Department of Health, the Department of Corrections, and NCCHC conduct regular inspections and audits on our operations to ensure we are getting it right,” Norfolk Sheriff’s Office spokesperson Jamie Bastas said in an email.
The Department of Corrections guidelines for treating pregnant people in jail only limit the type of restraints used, the types of cells they can be kept in and requires that they be given “sufficient food and dietary supplements as ordered by a licensed physician or physician staff member to meet generally accepted prenatal nutritional guidelines.”
The jail’s contract with WellPath, which is largely consistent with Mediko’s, requires their staff to provide pregnancy tests and inquire about pregnancy upon intake. At a minimum, WellPath was required to provide prenatal care that included routine urine testing for proteins and ketones, taking vital signs and weight measurements, assessing fundal height and heart tone, watching for signs of pre-eclampsia, providing appropriate vitamins and dietary needs, identifying high-risk pregnancies and making appropriate referrals to a specialist or hospital, and providing —an on-site prenatal clinic.
The contract also required WellPath to have an off-site medical provider for services that can’t be administered in jail. Transportation to these providers is provided by the sheriff ’s office “as reasonably available,” but WellPath has to provide emergency ambulance service in life-threatening situations.
There are no standardized requirements for prenatal care in U.S. jails beyond the 1976 Supreme Court ruling Estelle v. Gamble, which held that “deliberate indifference” to an inmate’s serious medical needs constitutes cruel and unusual punishment, according to Dr. Carolyn Sufrin, an associate professor of gynecology and obstetrics at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine.
Organizations such as the National Commission on
Correctional Health Care, where Sufrin is a board member, have published guidelines on best practices, but these are all “optional,” she said.
“Every jail and prison can do its own thing. They get to decide what is addressing a serious medical need,” Sufrin said. “The expectation should be that pregnant people who are in jails should receive the same level and quality and frequency of prenatal care that they would in the community.”
A 2017 study, which had a sample size representing 57% of all females in prison and 5% of all females in jails, found that from 2016-17, 3% of all females entering jail were pregnant. Of the 1,622 pregnant jail inmates observed in the study, 224 births took place while the mother was in custody. Of those, 144 (64.3%) were live births, 41 (18.3%) were miscarriages, 33 (14.7%) were abortions, two (0.89%) were still births and four (1.8%) were ectopic pregnancies.
Her experience
In jail, Vick couldn’t take her regular prenatal pills and had to take the jail’s instead. Her vitals showed consistently high blood pressure, which had not been a problem during this pregnancy, nor during her previous one. About 1 ½ months into her incarceration, the jail allowed her family to bring in her original pills as a result of her continued hypertension, according to Vick.
Sufrin said high blood pressure is a risk factor that can result in a growth restriction in the womb — which was the case with Kash.
The jail declined to comment on the cause of Vick’s hypertension and its attempts to address it, and multiple attempts to reach WellPath were unsuccessful. Sufrin said it’s “unreasonable” to expect to take the same prenatal pill in jail that a person would normally, as long as the facility is able to provide an equivalent.
Poor nutrition while incarcerated is also a contributing factor to low birth weights, according to a 2017 study by the Journal of Correctional Health Care. Vick described receiving meals that only differed from others’ portions by the type of bread, and having irregular access to quality water. The regimented schedule of jail meals also is far from accommodating to the unpredictable hunger pangs and nausea pregnant people experience, according to Rebecca Shlafer, an associate professor at the University of Minnesota who specializes in prenatal and postpartum health in prisons and jails.
“About 70 to 80% of the time there was something wrong with the food,” Vick said. “They give you moldy fruit, moldy bread. You can send it back but it might take hours to come back.”
She added that the water was “disgusting,” and she had to drink it with her medicine. Any food or water her family brought from outside would have to be consumed within three hours.
Bastas said in an email that “all food provided is in line with (Department of Corrections) standards,” and that their food is inspected annually by the Virginia Department of Health.
“Ms. Vick was provided meals in accordance with these standards,” Bastas said. “Our facility adheres to these standards and did so while Ms. Vick was here.”
Sufrin said a healthy pregnancy requires vitamins and micronutrients such as folic acid, vitamin D, calcium, iron and omega-3 fatty acids.
“It’s highly variable whether diets in prisons and jails adhere to that,” Sufrin said. “Some prisons and jails do have what they call ‘pregnancy diets,’ but in my experience, oftentimes what that means is a pregnant person will get an extra sandwich, an extra carton of milk and a piece of fruit.”
Shlafer said many of the things needed for a healthy pregnancy outcome — exercise, socialization, calm surroundings and sleep, along with good nutrition — are hard to come by.
“These are simply not environments that are built for or prepared to handle the unique needs of pregnant women — they just are not,” Shlafer said, adding that “maternal stress is strongly correlated with adverse birth outcomes.”
Vick missed several important doctor appointments in the final weeks of her pregnancy, when weekly visits are recommended. The nurse practitioner scheduled several appointments with an outside doctor, and it was up to the jail to provide transport.
Vick would miss an appointment if staff wasn’t able to take her, she said.
“I probably should have went to the doctor at least three or four times by the time I finally did go,” Vick said, adding that she saw an outside doctor once during her incarceration.
Bastas said the number of visits to an off-site OB-GYN and treatment are determined by the OB-GYN physician without restrictions by jail staff on their practice of medicine.
When Vick finally saw an outside doctor, at Sentara, Kash wasn’t showing much activity. The doctor told Vick her blood pressure had been “too high for too long” and that she needed to have the baby that day.
Vick broke down.
“I’m just like, ‘Y’all don’t understand, you know, when you’re incarcerated and you’re about to be separated from your child early’ — and I just feel like this could’ve been avoided,” she said through tears.
Vick says she didn’t have privacy in the delivery room, with male deputies there at times while she was discussing her medical issues with hospital personnel.
She had about 2 ½ days with Kash before being taken back to the jail, which doesn’t allow women to breastfeed. Mothers can pump, though Vick said no one offered her that option. So Kash was on formula.
Her C-section incision ruptured and she developed infection despite regular evaluation by staff, Vick said, all before her six-week checkup. She attributed the infection to only being able to clean herself with an old rag that was washed once a week. Twice she blacked out and said none of the deputies noticed despite the apparent video surveillance system, and she never got a medical explanation for why these blackouts happened.
Only when a female deputy suggested she use “state panties,” which are washed daily, to clean her incision did she feel like her concerns were being addressed.
“I will never forget that because it’s like, ‘be human for once,’ ” Vick said.
In her medical history logs, Vick wrote “I love you” to every person she could think of because she knew that if she didn’t make it, the records would be personal property given to her mother.
On the outside
Apart from being small for his age, Kash is healthy, Vick said.
It didn’t take long for them to bond, she said, but experts say the loss of time with a parent early in a child’s life can have long-term detrimental effects.
“While those first 24, 48 hours are critical — and some incarcerated birthing people don’t even get that — it’s more than just that, right?” Suffrin said. “It’s those first months, that year, that bonding time together is really important for parapsychological development outcomes.”
Once Vick was on the outside, she had to pay childcare services and was saddled with bills stemming from Kash’s delivery — without having a job. She was told that if she went back to Hampton Roads Transit, she would start at the lowest pay level.
She planned to buy a house in 2021 and had built her credit as high as 780. But when she got out of jail in early December, her score was down to the 600s, she said. Vick said she signed up for Medicaid through the jail, but the program didn’t cover the delivery. The Pilot was unable to independently verify whether Vick signed up for Medicaid while in jail.
“I couldn’t take care of the bills, I was incarcerated — that doesn’t mean anything to anybody, it’s not their fault ... That’s just the reality of it. But I mean, where do I go?” Vick said. “How do I even start to get my life back on track when every time I turn around it’s something holding me back?”
Vick’s absence was felt in her family, and being unable to help them was devastating.
“I never thought that I would be in jail, I try to follow all the rules ... This is not something I’m just saying, it’s proven fact,” Vick said. “I work hard, I work all the time ... I took care of my son, I took care of my mom — she’s never needed anything. She went through a lot with me being in jail. She needed me home.”
Vick said just as she prayed that she would survive, she prayed for Carmon-Faison’s family.
“I know that this situation didn’t just change my life, it changed a lot of other people’s lives. I don’t hate anybody and I don’t feel any vengeance towards anybody,” Vick said. “I lost a lot of time and especially a lot of time with my kids. (Carmon-Faison’s family), on the other hand, are never going to get their loved one back.”
“I couldn’t take care of the bills, I was incarcerated — that doesn’t mean anything to anybody, it’s not their fault ... That’s just the reality of it. But I mean, where do I go? How do I even start to get my life back on track when every time I turn around it’s something holding me back?”
— Shayvonne Vick